The Westeros Penitentiary for Girls
by AuroreMartell
Summary: What if Sansa was sent to prison, accused of murdering Joffrey? What does she feel for her roommate, Sandra Clegane? And most important, what is the lethal secret that Jacqueline H'gar is keeping? Modern AU, rated T for swearing.
1. The First Morning

**A/N: **I love SanSan but I wanted to write something a little different. If you review, I will love you forever!

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Sansa Stark was brought in to the Westeros Penitentiary for Girls with her hands cuffed behind her back, her inner vulnerability reflected by her outside.

Her room was tiny, two beds bolted against the wall. No window with bars hiding the outside. No tally marks scratched into the wall. When Sansa thought of a traditional prison, this was just the bare minimum of what it would have looked like.

She was given an orange jumpsuit, and that was it. The guards told her she would meet her roommate in less than five minutes, lunch was just ending for the other inmates. Dinner was in five hours.

The roommate came with a bruise on her cheek and a split lip, but that was not the first thing Sansa noticed about the girl. An entire half of her face was badly burned, maybe not recently, but the scars and blemishes were there. Her hair, choppy and dull brown, ceased to exist on the burned side. She was the most horrible creature Sansa had ever seen.

When her eyes met Sansa's, she looked down at her own hands.

There was a moment of tense silence, until the girl said, "Want to give me your name, or do you want to keep pretending you're not fucking terrified of me?"

"I'm Sansa," she replied quickly.

She snorted. "We don't go by first names here, you know. Real name?"

"Stark, I guess."

"Better. I'm Clegane. Sandra Clegane."

As silence fell again, Sansa began to notice the details of Clegane that she hadn't noted before. Her eyes were weary and bitter, a shade of brown so dark they were almost black. On the unburnt part of her face, there was skin almost as pale as Sansa's, like Clegane hated to go out in the sun.

"So," said Clegane after about an hour of sitting in silence, "there are really three rules you need to memorize about this place. One, don't eat more than three-quarters of the food on your plate. You'll throw up. They put something in the food so we eat less and they save money."

Sansa nodded obediently.

"Two, when you're taking a shower, don't look at anyone, least of all Genna Waters. She's the strongest girl here. Looks are a sign of sexual aggression."

"Okay." She bit her nails worriedly and wondered if she could make it through her life sentence without showering.

"And last but most important, _don't_ fuck with Jacqueline H'gar. She's certifiably insane, schizophrenia and multiple personalities. All the other girls are scared of her. She's here because she killed every single person in the projects, where she lived. Remember seeing the Harrenhal murders on TV? That was her."

"Do people-" started Sansa. "Do the girls really, like, fight and stuff? Like on TV?"

Clegane stared at her. "It's on TV for a reason, Stark. Yes. There's fighting and raping in the showers and stealing and everything you can imagine." She caught sight of Sansa's panic. "What, you've never been in prison before?"

"I'm innocent," Sansa breathed. She felt faint.

"Here's a new one," snorted Clegane. "Probably the only freak in here who isn't proud of what she did to get here. Well, let's hear it."

Sansa hated telling this story. She hated telling it in court, to the clueless judge and smug Lannisters that lied to put her away forever. "They thought I killed my fiance."

"Fiance?" Clegane's eyes widened. "Christ, Stark. How old are you? Ten?"

"_Fifteen_!" snapped Sansa. She took a breath, worried Clegane would react, but her outburst didn't even make her raise a burnt, hairless eyebrow. "His name was Joffrey. I guess someone poisoned him, because after he got engaged to another girl, he choked on his dinner." She cast her eyes downward. "His mother hated me. She told the judge I killed him."

Clegane stared at her. "Wow, you seem awful sad that he's dead."

Sansa thought of telling her the truth- _I'm glad he's dead_- but didn't say anything. She had despised Joffrey. He had hurt her, humiliated her, forced her to do this and that to please him. But it would make her sound guilty, so she kept her mouth closed.

Silence fell yet again, and another hour or so passed. Sansa had no sense of time in the tiny, windowless dungeon. She finally summoned the courage to say, "Um... So why are you here?"

"Because," Clegane drawled from her bed without looking at her, "I killed my brother."

Sansa felt her eyebrows shoot up, and Clegane laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. I'm not denying it, Stark, it's true. I looked into his eyes and shot my dear sweet brother Gregor right between his ugly eyes. Uglier than mine, if you can believe it."

"Why?" She whispered faintly.

As if stalling for time, Clegane examined her rough nails. Sansa detected a faint trace of what looked like fear in her dark, horrible eyes. "He wasn't a good brother," she responded at last. She swung her body off the bed, and for a second Sansa was scared Clegane would beat her for asking, like on TV. But all she did was say, "It's about time for dinner. The guards'll be here any minute."

"I don't really want to go," evaded Sansa.

"Scared of the girls?" Clegane replied. Embarrassed, Sansa nodded. Clegane shook her head. "Hey, don't worry. Just don't talk to them or look at them. And-"

"Yeah?"

"And I'll protect you, okay?"

_Protect me?_ Sansa's head spun. Why was Clegane so calm and gentle to her, despite everything Sansa would have assumed about this ugly, vicious looking girl. But she didn't appear to be dangerous, and without a protector, Sansa didn't know what would happen to her. "Okay, thanks," she said at last.

Clegane nodded. "Any time, Stark," she said, as the guards opened the door and led them to dinner.


	2. The Last Supper

Even without Clegane telling her not to, Sansa wouldn't have finished her dinner. It looked disgustingly inedible, for one, but the thing that kept her appetite at bay was the nerves of seeing the other girls.

There was only one large table for the inmates of Cell Block F, the section of the penitentiary where the murderesses were kept. Clegane brought Sansa a tray of what was supposed to be food and led her to it. Everyone was in the standard attire of orange jumpsuits and messy hair, but these girls also shared cold eyes and the markings of fights- bruises, scars, fat lips, and black eyes.

Sansa and her roommate sat at the far end of the table, and Clegane ran her through which girl was which. "There's Stanny Baratheon," she pointed, "who also killed her brother. She won't say why or how, and neither did the news. Two seats away is Petra Baelish, she killed her girlfriend Lysa."

"Oh, I think I heard about that. The Eyrie murder?"

"Exactly. She blamed it on that singer that lived with them for some scandalous reason, but the police found out and it was all over for Petra. Across from her is Daenerys Targaryen. She's one of those desert girls, apparently she burned down this old woman's house, but she's harmless if you stay on her good side. A bit crazy though, like all those goddamn Dothraki. She and the girl next to her have been here for, like, ever."

"Who's next to her?"

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Jora Mormont is her name, she was Daenerys' accomplice. The one over there, her name is Yorenne, we don't know her last name. She was somehow running a child trafficking thing, and she had to kill some of the city guards to get the children up north. She's dangerous, so don't go near her without me."

Sansa thought over the words _without me_. Like Clegane was going to be her "protector" for as long as she was going to be here. Which was for life, if the Lannisters got their way.

"Remember the Winterfell massacre? Thea Greyjoy, right over there, was the one who did that."

"I know. I came from the north."

"Genna Waters is three seats away from her. She was implicated in the Harrenhal murders with Jacqueline H'gar, who is sitting across from her. The bad girls of Cell Block F," she finished with something like revulsion. It sounded almost as if Clegane was jealous of the twosome.

Waters caught Sansa's eye, and even though she dropped her gaze fast, Sansa could still see Waters poking H'gar and pointing out Sansa. She felt a nervous squirm in the pit of her stomach, and she prayed to whatever gods she could think of to help her. Not that the gods have answered my prayers as of late.

H'gar stood up from her seat and strolled slowly over to Clegane and Sansa. She had waist length hair the color of a faded tomato with long white stripes running through it that clashed magnificently with her orange jumpsuit. H'gar was supermodel gorgeous, and Sansa immediately noticed the lack of scars on her face, as though she had never been in a fight. Which, Sansa thought, was evidently because Waters did all the brawling for her. Waters was over six feet tall, with the thick muscled body of a bear and the face of a man, albeit a handsome one.

"Hey, lovely girl," H'gar said in a slow voice, almost as if she was high. "You're the girl who killed Joffrey Lannister, eh? Well done, I would say, but you have everyone convinced you're innocent."

Clegane was watching Sansa, probably to see if she would react. Sansa kept her eyes trained on her tray of slop, hoping against hope H'gar would just walk away and leave her alone.

When Sansa kept perfectly still, H'gar turned her attention to Clegane. "She's a pretty one, isn't she, Clegane? Like a little bird, with that pretty ginger hair." H'gar twirled a lock of Sansa's hair around her finger, tugging slightly, and Sansa felt nauseous. From the look in her eyes, Clegane wanted to stop H'gar, but with Waters smirking at her side, there was nothing she could do.

H'gar released Sansa's hair, but kept talking in her drawling voice. "What'd you say, Clegane? Do you think the little bird here is prettier than your last roomie? Or can you even look at a girl the same way you did with-"

_"Stop. Talking," _growled Clegane. Her hand was squeezing her plastic, dull-pronged fork, and her voice was thick with an almost animalistic rage. Sansa watched as H'gar's eyes narrowed slowly.

"Did you say something, _dog_?"

In one fluid motion, Clegane was on her feet, her arm swinging in a solid arc at H'gar's face, but even quicker was Waters, who grabbed Clegane's arm mid-throw and twisted it. H'gar, with a placid expression on her face, stepped back to watch the fight. Sansa scrambled out of her chair, part of her wanting to save Clegane, but her sanity kicked in.

It appeared that Clegane, while smaller than Waters, could hold her own. Still growling with rage, she swung her strong arms at Waters, and while most of her shots were blocked, Clegane managed to leave a dark bruise on Waters' cheek.

The guards, after roughly sixty seconds of fighting, caught Clegane and Waters fighting viciously and pulled them apart. H'gar, obviously unconcerned for the fate of her crony, had drifted back to her seat and proceeded to eat her dinner, while Sansa was left to watch as the one girl who was looking out for her, the one person who cared, was dragged away.

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**A/N:** Yeah, yeah, I know Joffrey's last name is Baratheon, not Lannister, but since I included "Stanny" Baratheon, I didn't want to make things confusing. PLEASE REVIEW, and all your wildest dreams will come true.


	3. The Confessions

It was late in the night- at least, when Sansa was falling asleep in her windowless room- when Clegane was returned to their room.

"Clegane?" She said sleepily. Sansa sat up and flicked on the light, illuminating her scarred, burnt, horrible face. If any other girl so ugly were to be standing above Sansa slept, Sansa would have fainted dead away. But this was Clegane, her protector, so Sansa felt almost relieved looking into her raging dark eyes.

"Did you get through showering okay without me?" was the first thing Clegane said back to her. "No one bothered you, right?"

"I didn't go. I was too scared-" Without you, Sansa finished in her head. "Sorry if I stink a little."

Clegane shook her head, flopping onto her own bed. "No, no, that's good. Don't go into the showers alone, you hear? If you absolutely have to, try to go when only Targaryen or Baratheon are showering. They're dangerous if you cross them, Targaryen and her little follower Mormont most of all, but if you don't say anything and look at your feet they won't hurt you."

"Thanks."

"Any time, Stark."

Sansa paused as Clegane pulled the ratty blankets over her body. "Hey," said Sansa calmly, as if this weren't something she had been dying to ask since she had first met Clegane, "can you maybe not call me Stark? You know, when we're alone. I just-"

She broke off. Clegane was looking into her palms with eyes that had suddenly grown angry and wet, as if ready to cry. "Oh-"

"Sorry," Clegane managed through clenched teeth. "It was just- She told me that once. My last roommate."

Sansa picked at her cuticles nervously. "Should I stop talking?"

"No, it's okay. You see, there was this little girl, a few years younger than me, who lived here before you moved in. She had hair like yours. Just as pretty as yours. Just as innocent as you, not just because she was framed too, but innocent in every sense of the word. She'd never been in prison before. I had to take care of her, she was so fragile. She was a sickly girl, but so strong in spirit. The bravest girl you'd ever known, smart, funny. I had to save her from H'gar, but..." Clegane's breath caught. "But Waters got to her. She beat her so bad for something stupid. She insulted them, and Waters went after her. She died here about a month ago."

"Who was she?" Sansa ventured.

"Her name was Elia Martell."

Sansa felt sick to her stomach. She knew who that was. Elia had been imprisoned for the murder of her little daughter Rhaenys, but only after Elia was killed in prison, this very prison, did the truth come out. Rhaenys was killed by another man, and Elia died an innocent girl.

"I'm so sor-"

"And the worst part was," breathed Clegane in a voice almost unhuman with rage, "my brother killed Rhaenys. In the end, it was my brother."

"Oh my god."

Clegane squeezed her eyes together. "In my dreams, I kill him every night. All I dream about now, the way his head looked after i shot him, the way he shit himself in fear. He put Elia, the girl I loved, in prison. He killed her, technically." Her breathing was labored, heavy with pain. "He would hurt me. When I was young, I stole a toy of his, and he shoved my face here into the fire." She jabbed at the burnt side of her face. "He did worse things to me, to other girls. I did the world a favor by shooting him."

Sansa was so caught up in Clegane's story, she had to pause for several minutes before blurting, "Now that we're confessing... I just have to tell you, because I'll be here for a while. I _did_ kill Joffrey Lannister. I poisoned his dinner. He would have been the worst husband in the world. The Lannisters didn't even know, but they blamed me anyways."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah."

There was prolonged silence. "I am really sorry about Elia," Sansa said softly.

"Thanks." Clegane turned off the light, and the room went pitch black. "Have you ever loved someone?"

"I've had crushes," Sansa admitted. "There was one guy, Loras Tyrell. I was crazy about him, but as it turned out, he was gay."

She heard a sigh from Clegane. "At least I know there's one straight girl in this prison full of crazy lesbos. We've got me, Baelish with her dead girlfriend, Mormont who is obviously obsessed with Targaryen, and Greyjoy, who, if you believe her, slept with half of the whores in her hometown. Like that's supposed to impress us."

Sansa felt herself smile slightly, something she hadn't thought was possible anymore. "What was it like, you know, to love a girl?" She said shyly.

"It's like I'm at fucking summer camp, swapping girly stories," she heard Clegane mutter, but she obliged. "Ah, shit. It was nice, I guess. Elia loved me for me. She didn't give a fuck if I was the ugliest girl in the entire world. She was amazing."

"Why do you care so much about your burns?" Sansa blurted out. "I mean, I'm sorry about how you got them. But no one really seems to notice."

The light was flashed on again, and after Sansa's eyes adjusted, she saw Clegane sitting up in bed. "No one notices?" She hissed. "How the _fuck_ would you know?"

"I just-"

"No, you just _nothing._ You grew up in your pretty little house with a perfect family that loved you. How the _fuck_ would you understand what I'm like? No one notices anything but the burns, and you with your perfect little life-"

"Shut up!" screamed Sansa. "You are _so_ narrow minded, thinking that just because I'm not visibly damaged that I'm perfect. Why do you seem to want to be the most messed up girl here? I was stolen from my family to be married to a boy who hurt me so much I had to _kill him_, Clegane, and his family didn't even care what he did to me. I can't prove it with my face, and so what?"

Clegane was out of her bed, and Sansa stood up too. There was the same wild, animalistic fury in her eyes, and suddenly Sansa was more scared than ever. If her one protector was going to turn against her...

The fear in Sansa's eyes must have been evident to Clegane, because the anger suddenly went out of her and was replaced by worry. "Oh shit, no, don't please.." Her voice trailed off. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Please, I'm sorry, don't be afraid of me..."

Sansa sat down. "I'm not," she lied softly.

Clegane looked regretful and fearsome, like she didn't believe Sansa. "Okay. Well then, sleep well, and I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah. Good night, Sandra."

"Sweet dreams, Sansa."

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**A/N:** I just _had_ to include Elia Martell.

Also, I'm debating leaving the story here, or should I continue? PLEASE REVIEW and give me your opinion. Kisses!


	4. Meet the Inmates

The next day, the guards took the girls of Cell Block F into a small tennis court on the roof of the Westeros Penitentiary. Sansa got the impression that this was to be their required exercise for the day. Only Targaryen (and by association, Mormont) picked up rackets and idly bounced the balls against the wall.

Genna Waters had been taken away by the guards, but even without her presence, Sansa felt shaky and nervous. Sandra wasn't there by her side. Both she and Waters were being disciplined somewhere in the prison, and though all H'gar did was lean against the wall and survey her subjects, Sansa's stomach felt hot and scared.

Lonely, Sansa picked at her nails and watched Greyjoy try to flirt with Targaryen for a while. It was almost amusing how Greyjoy tried to make friends in a prison where all the girls (minus Sansa) seemed cold and unrelenting, while Greyjoy just wanted to fit in.

There was a thud as Petra Baelish sat down on the bench where Sansa was sitting, and Baelish greeted her with a "Hey" and a creepy grin. For some reason Sansa didn't like Baelish, and her mere presence made Sansa's skin crawl. Maybe it was her oily smile, her hypnotic way of talking, or even the way Baelish looked at everyone, with a sly, calculating gaze.

"Hello," Sansa replied stiffly.

Baelish slid a little closer to her, eyes wandering over her body in a way that was more clinical than sexual. "So," she said at last, "I trust you are enjoying your stay here in the WPFG?"

Sansa didn't respond. She wasn't quite sure why all the girls here seemed to talk in the same cynical, coy voice.

"Anyways," Baelish exhaled, "you haven't met many of the people this institution has to offer. Now that your little guard dog is gone, we can have some fun. Don't worry, your kind of fun. Not Waters' kind of fun," she added with a soft chuckle.

Sansa was led unwillingly over to the table where Greyjoy lay slumped in a chair, obviously rejected by Targaryen, and where Baratheon was composing a letter. It was true Sansa was scared of all these girls, no matter how pathetic looking, but after Sandra's outburst last night, maybe it was good to socialize with people who weren't so unhinged.

"-and it's just like, no. I mean, no! What does Jora fucking Mormont have that I don't?" Greyjoy exclaimed.

Baratheon rolled her flat grey eyes. "Greyjoy, you _do_realize you are not truly in love with the girl, right? You only went after Targaryen because you thought she had a, let me say, womanly figure."

"No, I said because she has big tits and a great ass."

"You are attracted to her because she is unattainable. Also, because you think she's the only girl to reject you."

"I think?"

"From what you tell me, the only sexual relations you had were with paid whores."

Greyjoy considered this. "Well. Yeah. But still. It's not like Targaryen can do better than me. Who was she married to before she came here? Some king of that weird desert _country?"_

_"Married?"_interjected Sansa quietly.

"It is not uncommon," Baratheon said in her preachy, know it all voice, "for a poor girl living in Pentos to be wedded to a king, nor to sire heirs for him."

"And you thought it was the twentieth century," grumbled Greyjoy.

Baratheon slapped a hand against her forehead. "That's because it's _not._Sometimes I just have to wonder about how the cold air of the north affected your head, Greyjoy."

Sansa bit her lip.

"Please," Greyjoy snorted, tossing her hair indignantly. "Like you're any better. Are you writing to Melisandre again? You know that a), she's not your girlfriend, and b), she never responds."

"Melisandre," Baratheon said through gritted teeth, "is going through a very hard time. What with her survivor's guilt at not being caught in the murder, and I feel the need to protect her-"

Greyjoy sniffed. "Guilt? That's a good one."

Baelish must have caught Sansa's confusion. "Melisandre was Baratheon's accomplice in the murder of her brother."

"Of course," Baratheon said loudly, over Baelish, "she is experiencing guilt! Melisandre and I had- have- a connection that is deep and trusting-"

"Which is _totally_why she somehow convinced the cops it was all you when they found your brother dead and her fleeing the scene of the crime. How did she convince them, Baratheon? How did you kill your brother? Why is there so much mystery surrounding this?"

And then they were fighting, Baratheon slamming her hands into Greyjoy's face and Greyjoy trying to keep up. Baelish was just watching Sansa to see how she reacted, and Sansa felt sick all over again. Why had Baelish brought her here? To prove a point? Either way, Sansa decided there would be no better option than just running back to her table and putting her head down until the guards brought her back to Sandra.

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**A/N: **Oh my heavenly stars! Imagine my shock and gratitude at the magical people who reviewed this story! THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, but special thanks to seekingtomorrow and Auteur-Onirique who gave me suggestions! Y'all are welcome to flood me with ideas, I will take each into consideration and try to work 'em in. Kisses!


	5. The Dinner's Secret

Sandra hadn't come back in time for dinner. Sansa was forced to question Mormont about where the girls who had been caught fighting went. "They're taken to the prison's psychiatrist, so they can work out their problems," Mormont had said vaguely before heading back to Targaryen. Like many other girls in the WPFG, Mormont seemed cold but reachable, and this small fact pleased Sansa. It was nice to know that not all the girls were angry thugs.

But now it was dinner, and not only was Sandra gone, but Baratheon and Greyjoy were absent too. Baelish was talking to Yorenne, and Sansa didn't like either of them, for Sandra-related reasons. Maybe she should have sat with Baelish and tried to figure her out, but Sansa decided to go down that path with Sandra by her side.

That left H'gar. As soon as Sansa sat down by herself with a plate of slop on her tray, H'gar had already gotten up and gracefully slid into the seat across from her. Sansa felt her heart jolt with fear, but H'gar stopped her from leaving.

"I want to talk to you," said H'gar. Her red-and white bangs veiled her eyes. "It's about your sister."

_"Arya?"_ Sansa said, confused. Arya was her sister who had run away from home at age twelve, and none of the Starks had heard from her since. "I don't get it."

For a moment, H'gar's supermodel-esque face went soft with something like pity. "She lived in the Harrenhal Projects with me for a while."

"Oh, my god..." Sansa knew she was going to be sick, and she hadn't as much as touched her food.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry," apologized H'gar gently. "Just hear me out, okay? She was with me and Genna for a while. We needed to get out of there. Stark, it was like the worst place in the world. Your sister was strong, but we knew that if she stayed in Harrenhal, something bad would happen to her. To us. The world isn't safe for three girls, so I set fire to the projects. Only problem was..." Her voice was choked with tears. "Arya had to be a hero. She went back into the fire to save Genna. We made it out safe, but it got Arya."

"So... She's dead," Sansa said. Her head was buzzing, and for only the millionth time today she felt ready to puke up whatever food was left in her.

"I wanted to tell you, without Clegane or Genna around. God, I'm so sorry. First you have to come here and room with Sandra Clegane, then you find out your sister's dead... Christ, Stark, you must be having a rough time of it."

Sansa's head snapped up. "Actually, Sand- I mean, Clegane, has been really good to me. Taking care of me and whatever. I mean, she told me not to eat too much food. That's, like, pretty friendly."

"Not to eat the food?" H'gar cocked her head, frowning. "You'll starve. We all finish our food."

It was true, Sansa thought as she watched Yorenne dump her empty tray in the garbage can. And come to think of it, Baelish and her group always finished their meals. "But I don't understand. She must have been mistaken."

"Clegane has... Well, let's call them _control issues_. She can't be friends with someone without running their lives for them. It looks like she's moving in on you, starting with something simple."

"You're out of your mind."

H'gar bit her lip and leaned closer to Sansa. It made her nervous. "Okay, I guess I have to tell you this. But even you can't repeat this, alright? If this gets out... Shit. It'll blow the whole prison apart."

"_What_?"

There was a moment of dramatic silence, and H'gar finally said, "No. I can't tell you this in public. But I promise to help you, and this will all get better. I'll send Baelish outside of your room at exactly eleven o' clock tonight, and we can resolve this."

Sansa felt dumbstruck. "Wait, wait, so _what_? You're just going to leave me here, and then at night you'll magically get a way to send Baelish after me? Oh, sure, the guards won't even know-"

"Sansa." H'gar's fist slammed on the table. "Eleven o' clock, and the truth will come out."

"Can't you at least... give me a hint?"

H'gar paused, a strange smile worming up her face. "Okay. Do you pray to the Red God?"

"No, to the-"

"Doesn't matter. In here, there's only one god- the Red God. And he keeps balance of all the lives taken before their time. Since you killed Joffrey Lannister- don't try to deny it, it's fine- you took one life but saved many, many more from his tyranny. So, Stark, the Red God will grant you ten deaths. And you'll need them tonight."

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about."

But H'gar had breezed off, her hair waving over her orange jumpsuit. Sansa put her head in her hands. Before, she had wanted to run back to Sandra, but now that there was some dangerous secret H'gar was keeping, Sansa didn't know who to trust. All she could do was wait for eleven o' clock...

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**A/N**: Yay, intrigue! I'm deviating from the SanSan romance for a bit to make it a thriller. But never fear, there will be romance aplenty at the end!

I'm trying to update this story as much as I can. In a perfect world, I'd update it every day, but news flash, it's not a perfect world. But I'm trying!

Keep reading, keep reviewing, and I LOVE YOU!


	6. Necessary Evil

**A/N**: Thanks for all your beautiful reviews, especially my dear sweet seekingtomorrow, Auteur-Onirique, and most of all voodooqueen126, who gave me the idea for these next chapters! Yes, we're leaving the romance behind for now and moving into a thriller. Hope you like it!

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Eleven o' clock... Eleven o' clock...

How would Baelish know when to get Sansa? How would she know where to take her? How would H'gar tell her? How would Sandra react when she heard about this?

Out of all the frightening, sweaty questions running in her head, Sansa clung to one, the most mysterious: _Who is the Red God, and what does H'gar mean when she said I have ten deaths_? Sansa remembered vaguely old classes with her tutor, Mrs. Mordane, studying foreign religions so when Sansa became a lady she could be acquainted with the customs of other lands. But she was at a loss when she tried to think what the Red God stood for. Sansa lay in her black, empty room that resembled a tomb more than a dorm, thinking.

It was hours later when Sansa heard the noise.

There was a rap on her door, and a hiss of "Stark? Wake up. It's us."

Us? Sansa thought, but she groped for the door handle in the darkness. Surprisingly, it was open. When Sansa opened it next, she gasped quietly. Baelish stood there with a gun, and Baratheon accompanied her, looking out of place and scared. Not scared, exactly- Sansa had a feeling it was impossible to scare a girl as stony as Baratheon. But she was certainly uncomfortable.

"What's Baratheon doing here?" Sansa whispered. "And why do you have a gun? And where are the guards? Oh my god, Baelish, what is happening."

Baelish's face was resigned. "You need to know this secret if you're going to live here. All the other girls know it- well. All of the girls but Clegane."

Sandra's surname, so comforting to Sansa in open light, was received with a touch of something darker in night. H'gar's words about Sandra being dangerous, controlling, and deceitful were imprinted in Sansa's mind. When her only other protectors were a girl who was clinically insane and a creepy spy like Baelish, Sansa almost wanted to believe Sandra was the best.

Baratheon met her eyes. "Forgive me for intruding, but-"

"But you've got skills we need," said Baelish. Her eyes were red, like she'd either been staying up too late or she was slightly demented. "This will be the only time you'll thank her for getting involved with Melisandre."

"No thank you," Baratheon said, avoiding the Baelish's bloodshot gaze.

Baelish slammed her hand again the wall, and Sansa flinched. "You guys. Why are there no guards?"

"Melisandre was a not just a whore," Baelish said smoothly, letting the gun dangle threateningly from her hand towards Baratheon, "but she was- there's not really a better word for it- a witch. Hmm, Baratheon? And now we're getting lucky, because a little dark magic will help us find her."

"Find who?" Sansa squeaked.

"H'gar will tell you all that later on. For now, we just need to get you four floors down."

There was something deadly in the air. Sansa wasn't sure what it was, but she felt the tingle of fear in her stomach. "This is the second floor," she responded, her voice just above a murmur.

Baelish nodded. "I know. We're going deep into the prison tonight."

"The guards will catch us."

"Not today," said Baratheon softly. She pointed to the corner, illuminated with a faint pale glow from a window. Sansa saw a puddle of something like water, but thicker and darker in the half-light. Her eyes followed the water to a great pile of wet clothes, and the on her eyes adjusted-

Sansa screamed.

Baelish grabbed her by the neck and smothered her mouth with a hand, but the image of the mass of dead, bloodied guards was still fresh and burning hot in her mind. When Sansa stopped screaming in shock, she stumbled to the ground.

"What the-"

"Necessary deaths," Baratheon said, her usually steady voice bordering on a whimper. "H'gar said the Red God would permit ten deaths. That's seven."

"Oh my god," Sansa sobbed. "What kind of god is this? Who lets people die like this?"

There was the sound of feet against the floor, and Sansa was about to evacuate her bladder when she saw a girl with long red and white hair. Her eyes were blazing anger.

"The Red God," H'gar hissed, "is not the only god who allows death. All of the stupid gods do, as we all know. I remember your sister had a little saying that I like: anyone can be killed."

"My sister?"

"Your sister saved my life. She was owed one death." H'gar looked at her hands with a glint in her eyes, something that made Sansa's skin crawl. "The Red God knows when someone is killed when they were supposed to be alive for a while longer. I was set to die in a horrible accident, but Arya saved me. The Red God was missing a death, you see, so she was allowed to kill one person. When Joffrey Lannister lived, there were ten people set to die the next day, and you saved them."

H'gar paused and glanced at the two other girls. "Thank you, Baelish and Baratheon. I appreciate your help with getting Stark out safe. You're dismissed."

The girls scurried off, and H'gar lifted a gun from the bloody body of a dead guard. When all was quiet, H'gar turned to Sansa. "Tonight will be a big one for you, Sansa Stark. We're going to show you the secret that will probably change your relationship with your little roommate forever."

"Why is there so much secrecy?" Sansa whispered, annoyed and scared and sick. "I mean, you sound like a commercial for a bad horror movie. Can't you tell me one thing?"

A smile spread over H'gar's face. "Someone's got an attitude, hmm? Well. I can tell you the secret, but that will spoil the surprise when you see her."

"Who? WHO?"

"Elia Martell," said H'gar, and it felt like Sansa's stomach turned to ice. "She's still alive."


	7. Get that Maegi

**A/N:** Yay, finally another chapter! As always, thank you for your beautiful reviews and PMs. Keep 'em coming, it's my motivation to write!

This is a bit from Sandra Clegane's head. I still love Sansa but I want Sandra in the mix, maybe only for this chapter. Hope you like it! REVIEW AND PM!

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It had been ages, almost two years, since Sandra Clegane felt threatened in the WPFG. She now knew all the tricks to avoid the creepy girls in the shower, the safe place to sit and eat your food, and how to deal with the mind numbing grief of losing Elia. She wasn't scared by anything in the prison. Sandra had two fears: fire, and her brother.

There was no fire allowed in the prison. And she had taken care of her brother.

But now it was dark, and the halls were completely empty. After an excruciating session with the lame-ass therapist, Sandra had been released. A guard was supposed to take her back to her room, but the corridors were conspicuously devoid of the wardens.

And Sansa wasn't in their room, either.

Sandra snuck down the silent halls. She was only slightly scared for herself. Tonight's mission, she thought dryly, was to save Sansa.

Suddenly, there was a crash and a horrible scream down the hall. Sandra whipped around, crouching into a defensive pose, but she realized wasn't in danger- Greyjoy was. Sandra could make out the shape of two guards chasing after her, but there was a crack of gunshots and they fell still.

_What the fuck is going on?_ She thought.

Sandra raced down the hall. Greyjoy, eyes at half-mast, was lying in a spreading pool of blood. Sandra had never cared for the slutty Iron Islander, but she kneeled down to face her.

"Who are-" screamed a voice, and Sandra turned to see Yorenne, armed with two guns and a wild expression. "Oh. Clegane."

"Where's San, um, I mean, Stark?" Sandra blurted out. "And is Greyjoy dead?"

Greyjoy widened her eyes and managed to push herself up into a sitting position. "No," she slurred. "The fucking guards shot me in the arm. Goddamn it."

"What the fuck is going on?!" demanded Sandra.

Yorenne cast her eyes at Greyjoy. "We're... breaking out tonight."

"You're joking."

"Does this look joke-y to you?" Whimpered Greyjoy, holding out her bloody arm. "All I know is this: a guard was walking me away from the shrink's office when we run into a fucking pile of dead bodies. Baelish comes outta nowhere and shoots them dead. i grab a gun and book it, but two guards shoot me in my arm. Then you and Yorenne show up and-"

"Yeah, we get it," grunted Sandra. "Where's Stark?"

"I don't know," sobbed Greyjoy. "Jesus Christ, my arm! It hurts so bad-"

Sandra yanked her up to her feet and slammed the gun into her own palm. "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you? Didn't you shoot two boys in cold blood up in the north? Stop acting so damn weak."

"I didn't kill them," whispered Greyjoy.

Yorenne looked surprised. "But you said-"

I don't have time for this, thought Sandra furiously. Her head felt hot as she shot the gun thrice into the ceiling, a move she had seen in the movies to get attention. She was losing time looking for Sansa. _"Yorenne._ Tell me why we're breaking out, and I won't shoot you in the arm."

Raising her hands above her head sarcastically, Yorenne backed away. "Almost all the guards are dead on our floor. We can escape. It's the chance of a lifetime."

"Not just on your floor," a quiet voice said from behind.

A very pretty girl Sandra vaguely recognized from a recent news broadcast was standing in the darkness. She was bleeding and armed, surrounded by at least ten other girls. "I'm Tyrell. We're from the fourth floor," and Sandra knew that was where the arsonists, traitors, and girls who had committed other felonies were kept. "Why are they all dead? It's like... black magic or something."

Sandra knew that talking to Tyrell may have been useful, but her blood was boiling. She kept imagining Sansa lying on the dirty floor, her jumpsuit stained with blood and her soft blue eyes wide with pain. "I don't have fucking _time_ for this! Do you realize that? My roommate is gone and I-"

"Wait," interrupted a girl whose name was something like Kettleblatt or Kettleblack, Sandra never remembered. "You room with Sansa Stark, right? I saw her with some chick with red and white hair going to the basement."

"H'gar?" Sandra's throat closed. "Shit. This is not good."

There was the sound of feet on the ground, and each girl cocked her gun at the sound. But it was only Targaryen, Mormont, and Baratheon. "What's going on?" Mormont said dazedly. "Why's everyone dead?"

"The better question is, where's Stark?" Sandra screamed. "Why is she with H'gar? You know that bitch is never up to anything good."

Targaryen pushed her silvery hair off her face. "The basement. They're in the basement. We can find her."

Sandra paused, her raging mind slowing. "Are you..." she said quietly. "Are you offering to help me? All of you?"

Tyrell lifted her eyes to meet Sandra's. "I met Stark once, when her fiancé was alive. She doesn't deserve anything bad to happen to her. Not even if she is guilty."

"I'm with you, Dany," Mormont said breathlessly.

Greyjoy scowled.

"I'm fine with kicking H'gar's ass," volunteered another girl. "She scares the shit outta me."

Sandra stared at the crowd. She honestly couldn't remember the last girl, other than sweet Elia, who wanted to help her.

"Okay," Targaryen said with an uncharacteristially wicked smirk. "Let's go fuck that _maegi_ up."


	8. Truth and Haze

Sansa was thinking not of the pure black darkness that surrounded her and H'gar. She was not thinking of the confusing and somehow horrifying possibility that a dead girl lived. Not thinking of the fear that rose and clotted in her throat.

She was, instead, thinking of Joffrey Lannister.

He had been gorgeous. Disgustingly, that was the first thought that came to her mind. He was even more gorgeous when his rosy cheeks went purple from choking, when his muscular chest seized up with lost oxygen, when his emerald Lannister eyes were screwed up in pain and horror.

She was not allowed to attend his funeral. Oddly, she would have wanted to go. Just so she could let herself gaze on his cruel, resplendent face and feel happy being around him at last.

It wasn't enough for Joffrey to kill her father and her dog. Wasn't enough for him to beat her and threaten her in front of his entire court. Wasn't enough to make her stare at her father's decapitated head, enough to surround her with evil people of King's Landing, enough to take away every single thing she had ever loved.

Somehow, Sansa's tipping point was when he was going to marry another girl. She was certainly not still in love with him, but it hurt no less. Sansa's fate was to be Joffrey's plaything when his marriage was finalized. The toy left in the back of the closet, abused and raped and eventually broken.

She couldn't even imagine it. So Sansa Stark, the helpless wolf, dribbled poison into his dinner.

"Stark," hissed H'gar. The white stripes in her hair seemed to glow in the dark, and Sansa was briefly distracted. Her foot slipped on the stairs and she thudded into an unseen wall.

"What-" Sansa felt for the door. "Is this is? Where, um, Elia is... kept?"

H'gar's eyes, strangely visible, were the color of gold. Sansa had never noticed this in daylight. "Yes," H'gar whispered, her accented drawl rolling out into the black silence. "She's barely alive, I must say. Our lovely Martell is sickly. Don't disturb her."

"But how-"

There was the click of a lock, and the door opened.

The words fell out of Sansa's mouth. She was not facing the underground hospital that she had imagined. Instead, there was a girl inside large, glowing silver bubble that floated a few inches off of the floor. The girl was trapped and floating in a swirly haze of a substance similar to water, but she was clearly Elia Martell.

Elia was simply the most beautiful person Sansa had ever seen. Her skin was a stunning shade somewhere between copper and sand, her raven hair long and soft and curly, her delicate face sprinkled with tiny freckles. She was older, in her late teens, than Sansa had expected, but she remembered Elia was married at a young age and impregnated shortly afterwards.

H'gar was watching Sansa's reaction, which was to clap her hand over her mouth in a mixture of shock and terror. "Is she," Sansa panted, "what is she doing in there, H'gar? How did you even get the bubble in here?"

"Elia Martell was going to die," said H'gar roughly. "Do you want to know how she got so hurt?"

"Yeah, Clegane told me," Sansa defended, but she stopped herself. Could she trust Sandra? It was like everyone in the WPFG were telling her different things to think, and the one girl who Sansa felt like maybe she could trust, the one girl who was someone that Sansa felt differently for-

Sansa stopped herself from going down that path. A path she had never known existed. A path that was carved early on, maybe when Sandra was sharing secrets late at night, or when she was protecting her, or even when they had just met.

_A dog cannot love a wolf. No more than a dog can love a little bird. Pain and death will ensue_.

H'gar just sighed and didn't reply. "Martell wasn't in love with Clegane. And Clegane couldn't handle that. She... She went a little crazy. Martell was sick already, and the fight-"

"Wait," interrupted Sansa. Her head was spinning. She remembered Sandra's excuse, they beat her so bad for something stupid, and felt dizzy. Who was telling the truth? Sandra had said H'gar was clinically insane. H'gar had said Sandra was dangerous and even murderous.

"But why," Sansa continued, "why are you trying to keep her alive? And how?"

"How," started H'gar, "well, let's just say Baratheon has some friends with benefits: namely that witch of hers, who taught her some things. And as for me..." H'gar traced Elia's bubble, and her body spun like that of a puppet on a string. "I know a few things myself."

"... And why... You see, Martell wasn't ready to die, so we made sure she can live peacefully in a coma. She can't die, not by the standards of the Red God. She hadn't taken a life, and we knew that."

"We...?"

"The Red God," whispered H'gar fervently, her silver eyes- had they always been silver?- glinting in the light, "speaks through me. I am a prophet of him. I was sent here to do his bidding."

Sansa backed up, away from the bubble where Elia kept spinning lazily. Everything felt like one of those horror movies Joffrey loved and would give Sansa nightmares.

H'gar noted her fear. "I don't want to overwhelm you," she started, and then, all of a sudden, the bubble cracked. The hazy water sloshed out in a wave directed at H'gar, whose body was grabbed by the current and slammed into the wall, where she slumped, unconscious.

And Elia Martell, thought dead and alive and weak and paralyzed, stepped out of the bubble to face Sansa.

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**A/N:** Cliffhanger! Sorry for all of you pming me to get back to the romance. I'm trying! Right now I just want to write about Elia.

THANK YOU x100 to all of you beautiful people who review and pm me. I love you all and thank you for your nice comments! Keep on reviewing, they make me work harder!


	9. The Bastard's Cage

"There," breathed Tyrell. "That's the-"

Her words were ripped out of her mouth as the viciously loud snap of gunfire echoed down the hall. She and Sandra ducked, barely missing what appeared to be an entire clip of bullets.

"What the _fuck?!"_ screamed a girl with a House Manderly tattoo. "Why are the guards still shooting? Haven't they all died yet?"

The girls from Cell Block F and the crew that Tyrell had assembled were gathered in a large crevice. They had run their almost the minute after the "mission was on," as Greyjoy put it. Shortly after they found the hole in the wall, a phalanx of guards appeared and started shooting them. Only two girls were killed, which Sandra heartlessly counted as a victory. Any girl who wasn't Sansa was disposable.

Even herself.

Sandra cocked her gun on her shoulder, mind racing as Tyrell leaned closer to her and whispered, "There's a hidden entrance to the basement. We need to clear this hallway though."

"And how do you know this?" Sandra said dubiously.

Tyrell cleared her throat. "Um, never matter. What's important is finding Sansa."

"Fine. How are we going to get through there?"

"Well..." Tyrell examined her fingernails. "Karstark managed to pick the lock of the place where Bolton is kept."

All the air whooshed out of Sandra's lungs. There was no human alive who frightened Sandra Clegane left on this earth, but Ramsa Bolton was barely human, and if a girl as beautiful and pure as Sansa was wandering around the prison at night...

"You let that... thing out of its cage? Did you even fucking _realize_ what this is going to mean if she finds a girl like Sansa, alone and defenseless?"

Sandra easily could have kept ranting, but cut herself off. "You know what, fine. You can have your little pet, Tyrell." She glanced at the number of bullets she had left- very few, but enough. "As long as I can put a bullet between her eyebrows right after we rescue Sansa."

"You might find that difficult," said Tyrell in an undertone.

Before she could respond, Targaryen shoved her way to the front, where Tyrell and Sandra were talking strategy.

"Guys?" she whispered. "Redwyne got shot in the leg, she's bleeding all over, Condon is having a panic attack, Hastwyke is vomiting all over Yorenne who I think might stab her, and Jora keeps telling me that the world is going to end and that 'we should just have sex now and get over this tension that's been going on for years.' Please help me!"

"Romantic," Baratheon mumbled.

"Mormont!" screamed Greyjoy. "Stop being horny for like one fucking _second_ and try to focus here!"

Sandra didn't hear the squabbles. She had her head as far out of the crevice as she could, trying to see what was happening. "Shut up, you daughters of whores!" she hissed. "Tyrell... I think your plan is working."

The guards had barely time to turn around before Ramsa Bolton was there. She was a horror, terrifyingly ugly and holding a burning hot poker.

_heat... fire..._

Sandra fought to keep sane, but her head was spinning, and the entire left side of her face was burning.

"Don't look!" one girl whispered to Condon, the panicking girl, but it was too late. Bolton had advanced on the guards and was shrieking profanities as they writhed with pain. Sandra felt, for the first time in ages, scared.

The guards eventually fell dead to the ground, their bodies charred and disgusting. Bolton continued to rage over the corpses, stabbing holes into their skin as she whirled around and screamed obscenities into the silent air. After the guards were simply twisted chunks of meat, she paused, glanced down the hall, and ran away.

The smell of roasting flesh was thick in the air as the girls snuck out of the crevice.

"Here we go," said Tyrell as she helped Redwyne to a small hallway. "This is the place. We can get Stark now-"

"No, you can't," said a voice softly.

Baelish was standing at the end of the corridor, a smirk on her lips. She, Genna Waters, and Bolton with her flaming poker, were blocking the door.

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**A/N**: Ramsay Bolton just scares the shit out of me, but I didn't think to include him until this chapter, which is why she's not in Cell Block F. Sorry if the description was too graphic, but really, you all read aSoIaF. So this'll be pretty tame :)

Next chapter, as per requests, will continue the Sansa story.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS: especially seekingtomorrow and Ella Sander Castle-Fey. Check them out! They write good stories. I wish I could hug all my readers.

HAPPY HANUKKAH to all my Jewish friends out there... It's coming up and I might not add another chapter before it starts.

Love you all!


	10. The Deaths PART ONE

Elia didn't waste time. Despite being drenched like a rat in the hazy water, she stumbled forward and grabbed Sansa's shaking shoulders, and managed to stand firmly on the ground.

"Do you-" started Sansa, her voice wavering. It was impossible to breathe. This girl, who was supposed to be dead or at least comatose, was alive, and holding her, and so breathtakingly beautiful.

_"No!"_ Elia wheezed. Her voice was like a clear bell, and for some reason all Sansa could think was: this is the girl that Sandra Clegane loved, and she felt a wave of startling emotion wash over her. Sansa blinked, because out of all the things she could be feeling, it was... jealousy. Which confused her, to say the least.

"We can't... lose time," Elia coughed out. "We... have to leave." She coughed some more, and then stared curiously at Sansa. "Who are you? Why are you here for me?"

"I'm Sansa Stark," replied Sansa softly. "Sandra Clegane was my roommate, and-"

"Sandra? She's still alive?" whispered Elia. Her face lit up, and Sansa felt the sickening wave of jealousy again. "So she told you where to find me?"

"N-no," Sansa stuttered. "I actually came here with someone else.. and, well, I was told... not to trust Clegane."

Elia frowned. "Why? Who told you this?"

"Jacqueline H'gar.."

As soon as she said it, Sansa knew it was the wrong answer. Elia paled and pointed with her chin at the slumped body of H'gar. _"Her?_ Stark! She was the one who tried to kill me! And for all we know, she tried to kill Clegane!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

"She's clinically insane, you little idiot! She put me in that goddamn bubble to 'appease her god' or whatever the hell it was! She put everyone in the bubbles! She knew I found out about the others!"

Sansa felt cold, and it wasn't from the water. "Everyone?" she whispered. "Others?"

Elia didn't reply. Her eyes slid across the back wall, which was barely lit with a faint light. Sansa sloshed through the water, her jumpsuit sodden and clingy, to get to the wall. When she was a foot away from the wall, Sansa saw that the back wall... wasn't a wall. It was a huge expanse of bubbles, all shapes and sizes, each with a girl suspended inside.

Sansa felt sick as she walked from bubble to bubble, observing with horror the faces of the girls, their hair floating aimlessly, their eyes at half mast. "How did you get out?" Sansa said, her voice crackling with terror.

"I'd been fighting since I got in," said Elia quietly. "I'm not sure exactly how I got out, but I have this theory. Maybe if you let go a little, if you submit to the idea of being trapped, you'll never get out. I had so much fury when H'gar sealed me in..." Her voice trailed off. "And then it cracked, and then you were there."

"Can we get these girls out?"

"I don't think so... they have to save themselves."

"But, why would they stop fighting?"

"It's hard, so hard. You have to constantly be angry, be vicious. It was hard for me, and I wanted to give up, but..."

Sansa had stopped listening. In one of the bubbles was a tiny girl with pixie-cut brown hair and grey eyes that stared out at nothing. The water in the bubble was tinted red, and blood slowly seeped from a gash in the girl's chest. _"No,"_ she interrupted, "no, _please,"_ she whimpered, for the girl in the bubble was Arya.

Before Elia could comprehend anything, Sansa was clawing at the walls, fevered thoughts running through her head. It was as though this, seeing her little sister dead in the bubble, was the one piece of evidence that showed that H'gar was nothing more than a lying bitch.

The bubble did not give way, and finally Sansa collapsed, sobbing. Elia held her shoulders comfortingly as Sansa wailed, _"Why?_ If she's dead, why is she still here?"

Elia touched the bubble of a girl whose head had a round bullet mark in the center. "She's sick. She doesn't care who's dead or not. I think she just likes to have control over people..." Elia sighed. "She had a really horrible life, I've heard. It doesn't excuse it, but-"

The water began to swirl around H'gar's body, and Sansa could hear Elia suck in a gasp. With the ease of some sort of demented sloth, H'gar rose from the water and calmly stared at them. Even from far away, Sansa could see her wild eyes that shone like glitter.

"Don't move," said Elia in a choked voice, "when I say-"

"Elia, I think we let you live a little too long," H'gar sighed, almost sorrowfully. Elia looked like she was going to say something, but as her mouth opened, H'gar cut her off.

_"Valar morghulis."_

Sansa could see Elia's eyes roll back in her head, and before Sansa could understand what was happening, blood began to trickle from the corner of Elia's mouth. Sansa reached out for her, but Elia was falling backwards into the water, and she was dead.

Sansa screamed, long and loud. She was so in shock, from Elia living, from Arya dying, from H'gar rising, from Elia dying again, and from the fact that soon she herself would die. Everything was happening so fast, at a dizzying speed, and she just wanted to curl into a ball and try to understand.

H'gar glided through the water, her voice soothing, her clear green eyes sparkling. "I'm sorry you had to see that," said H'gar with honey in her voice. "And I'm sorry for wasting one of your deaths on her."

Sansa took a deep breath. "I have a name," she said quietly, attempting to maintain a calm appearance.

"Oh? Tell me."

"The name is," Sansa breathed, "Jacqueline H'gar."

Nothing happened for a moment. H'gar did not break eye contact, but somehow her irises began to morph into a crimson red color that terrified Sansa.

Then she was on Sansa, her nails digging into Sansa's arms, as H'gar tackled her. Sansa only had time to scream one last time before H'gar pushed her head underwater. _"That's what your sister said!_" H'gar bellowed, her voice rough and furious and utterly petrifying. _"She said that too! But I killed her, and I'm going to kill you too!"_

So dramatic, Sansa thought through a veil of fear. She could only see the vague outline of H'gar's head before her vision was lost in the water, and could only think 'I'm so sorry,' to whom she could not say, before her air rushed out of her lungs in a cloud of sparkling bubbles and she drowned.

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**A/N**: Spoiler alert: Sansa's NOT dead yet! Stay tuned for part 2. Keep on reviewing, lovely people!


	11. The Deaths PART TWO

All that Sandra could think to say was, _"Why?" _She meant for it to be a growl, but the question came out in a squeak. Her brain was convulsing with fear at the sight of Bolton's poker.

She remembered, with startling clarity, the day she was burnt. Christmas Eve, by the fireplace. Years ago. She had seen a little toy soldier of her brother's and thought it was pretty, so she picked it up as he walked in. The next minute was one of pure pain and muddled clarity. Sandra remembers his hand, large and meaty, on her face, the heat of the coals, and most frightening, the complete calm he had as he burned his little sister's face off.

I regret nothing, she thought as Sandra stared at Baelish. "Why? Stark's in there, we need to help her. Why are you being such a fucking-"

Baelish shook her head. "You don't understand, do you?" Her voice was rigid, tight, like a rubber band about to snap. "There is no good side here, Clegane. You haven't learned how to play. You need to realize some of us want to live."

"I still don't understand what the fuck this has to do with Sansa," snarled Sandra.

"Everything is going to hell," Baelish said softly. From beneath their feet, an explosion suddenly rumbled with fury. "Feel that? One of the inmates is setting off firecrackers, trying to break out. Do you know what'll happen if we break out? The only thing that can save us is what H'gar's got down there. Magic, or whatever you want to call it. There'll be rioting and fights, and me? I'm not real good at fighting. If she needs to kill your cute little ginger, so be it! I'm going to live. And I'm not going to let you stop me."

Greyjoy pointed her pistol at Waters. "Why are we still standing here, guys? Can't we just shoot-"

In a flash of heat, Bolton lunged at her, raking a stripe of roasting flesh down her arms. Greyjoy let out an inhuman scream of pain as Bolton stood over her, sweating, with Greyjoy's gun in her hand somehow. Greyjoy was struck three times, even with Baelish howling, "Stop! STOP!" but Bolton only halted to turn and glare at her.

"You don't give me orders," Bolton hissed at Baelish, and finally turned back to them.

Sandra was trapped, hysterically searching for a place to run, but they had been trapped. Bolton was blocking her way, her evil smirk shaking on her face, and Waters guarding the other exits.

She noticed that all the other girls had vanished. All those who were left were Tyrell and Yorenne. Baratheon was supporting the body of Greyjoy, who was somehow still alive. Targaryen and Mormont were consoling Redwyne- _of course, she's got such a crush on Tyrell, even a leg wound wouldn't stop her._ The fact that these girls were staying made Sandra feel a little sick and happy at the same time. "I just need Stark. And we'll leave," pleaded Tyrell.

Bolton silently turned on her, and Tyrell looked scared.

"Now before-" started Baelish_._

_BOOM!_ went the loudest noise Sandra had ever heard. The firecracker- or maybe a bomb, from the sound of it- caused part of the floor to crack, and Bolton stumbled_._

_Distraction. _Sandra shot the girl through the heart before she could even move. Ramsa Bolton fell to the ground with a thunk, blood spraying out of her heart, and Sandra let herself have a brief moment of silence. Not out of pity, of course. But because she hasn't thought to have given her a more painful death.

Waters was gone as soon as the gun went off, and Sandra could see her running to the hole in the floor. Tyrell whirled around, trying to shoot her, but Waters made it out. Only Baelish was left. "Don't shoot," Baelish eked out, but a bullet was through her head before her lips could close.

Baratheon screamed. "What the- Sandra, you killed her? Why? Why?"

Sandra could barely speak._ I have no fucking clue, I don't know what to do, I'm really scared_. She swallowed and snapped, "Less talk, bitch, more action."

Greyjoy was sobbing on the ground. "Why the fuck is everything happening to me?" Sandra glared at her, the spineless, sobbing body of a child. _She is nothing. She's never felt such fear like this before, stupid pathetic bitch._

"Sandra." Tyrell edged closer to her, kicking aside Baelish's corpse. "What are we gonna do? The door is bolted shut, Redwyne is dying and Yorenne just told us she got shot too so I don't really know if she'll make it, Mormont and Targaryen are like this close to getting it on right on the ground, and-" Her voice was wobbling, out of control. "Shit, I mean, I've never done this murder stuff before, I'm just freaking out."

"And you're in jail why?"

"Oh, I was framed for treason," Tyrell said, matter-of-factly. "But still."

"Hey," called Baratheon. "You think we can use this poker to break through the door? It doesn't look very solid, and I think maybe-"

"Well then let's go!" Sandra screamed. She didn't want to waste any more time than absolutely necessary, with Sansa trapped downstairs with a criminally insane freak. "Break the fucking _door _down!"

Even with Redwyne's leg half-blown off, even with Greyjoy's flesh still smoking, even with Yorenne dripping blood, each of the girls pounded on the door as hard as she could. In the back of Sandra's mind, she thought it would have been a very empowering scene in some movie. "_Push_, you motherfuckers!" howled Sandra for encouragement. "Stark is gonna die if you don't fucking _push_!"

And then-

Crack.

"Finally!" exulted Targaryen, and together they poured down the stairs.

From down below, Sandra could hear Sansa's voice wavering up through the floorboards, and what wounded like water sloshing below. Her throat tightened- _so she's still alive, that's good_- and she held up a hand. "No one say anything when we get down there, okay? Stark isn't safe yet."

Slowly, Sandra Clegane and the girls of the Westeros Penitentiary crept down the stairs to Sansa.

Sandra wrapped her hand around the door handle. It was curiously cold down here, which was a welcome relief from the sharp heat of Bolton's poker, but it made her burnt flesh tremble with a sort of wariness.

"On three," she whispered. Tyrell cocked her gun at the door.

"One."

There was the sound of Sansa whispering.

"Two."

She could hear H'gar screaming from behind the door.

"Thr-"

And then H'gar's voice, and Sansa shrieking, and when the door burst open a tidal wave of blue water began to flood the stairs.

Sandra saw the light spill into the hall, and there was H'gar, bent over Sansa Stark, hands tightening around her pale neck, throttling her. Killing her.

"STOP!"

It was as though no one else was there but H'gar, just a target for a bullet, as Sandra emptied her clip at the psychopath with the streaky red hair.

No bullets touched H'gar, somehow, but her hands loosened from Sansa's neck, and suddenly H'gar's arm was sweeping across the water.

Yorenne shrieked with pain, and fell to the ground.

"Don't move," whispered H'gar, as Yorenne lay dying. "Seriously. A girl can more than her. You can be next, dog, or maybe your little bird."

Sandra's head was spinning. It must have been magic, what killed Yorenne, she thought. "Let go of Sansa," she cried out, hearing her voice crack.

But Sansa was almost floating on top of the water, surely gone.

"But she's dead," H'gar whispered again.

White spots flashed in front of Sandra's eyes, and before she knew what she was doing, her empty gun was pointed at H'gar.

"Bad move!" yelled H'gar, almost laughing, and Redwyne fell to the ground, choking.

Sandra was panicking. "Tyrell-" she muttered, "go, go, get out of here, I'll get H'gar, just save-"

"No," mumbled Tyrell, who was bent over Redwyne's corpse. "Targaryen, take Redwyne for me. Everyone else- Follow me!"

And then, in one fluid motion, the girl stood and dove into the swirling water.

Targaryen shrugged, surprisingly calm, and jumped into the water, with Mormont on her heels. Greyjoy followed, and then came Baratheon. it took a minute for Sandra to realize what was going on, but as she H'gar waving her arms, trying to kill therealize understood that the girls in the water were safe- and approaching Sansa.

she dove into the water.

The next few seconds were rushed, wet, and confusing. When Sandra came up for air, she saw a flash of Tyrell grabbing H'gar's arm, a glimpse of Mormont's hands around the psychopath's neck, and Targaryen shaking water off her silver hair as H'gar fell back into the water.

"She's dead," Mormont said quietly, reverently.

Everything event silent.

"How?" said Baratheon.

"She's dead," repeated Mormont robotically. "I killed her. I don't know."

"Soooo," Greyjoy declared, "do we leave the way we came? I mean, we gotta leave, right? My arm is fucking killing me."

Sandra didn't care what they were deciding. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn't hear Tyrell speaking.

She swam over to where Sansa lay floating. Carefully, she pressed her lips to Sansa's, and began to perform the best mouth-to-mouth she could.

It felt like an eon later, when Sansa opened her eyes.

"Sandra?" she whispered, her perfect blue eyes fluttering over Sandra's scarred face. "Where's... what..." She swallowed. "I don't understand, I though H'gar was, like, magic, and I thought you..."

Sandra could have spent forever just staring at Sansa, Sansa who was alive. She could have died herself, knowing Sansa was safe.

"Anyone can be killed," she whispered. "Now let's get outta here."

* * *

A/N: THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE! You all are so beautiful. Seriously, thank you.

Yes this chapter was confusing, but that's what happens, I guess.

There's an epilogue coming up, so you'll have to wait just a little more.


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